A Dirty Death (30 page)

A tired-sounding woman answered. ‘Could I speak to someone dealing with the Redstone murders,’ he said urgently.

‘What?’

‘Surely you’ve heard about it? Two men killed on their own farm.’

‘Oh. Right.’ She woke up a bit. ‘Hold on, sir.’

A long silence ensued. Finally a man spoke, warily. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he said.

Jonathan tried to be brief, yet urgent, although 
it took a while to establish his identity to the man’s satisfaction. ‘I think my wife could be in danger. There are people hiding in our woods. She found a sort of camp there, a few days ago.’

‘But never reported it, is that right sir?’

‘Yes, yes. Now I think she’s gone there, and might be – well – in danger.’

‘Can you show us this secret camp, sir?’

Jonathan cleared his throat. ‘Well, not precisely. But if you’d send someone, we might start a search.’

Another silence. ‘All right, sir. Someone will be with you shortly. Where should we meet you?’

‘At the entrance to the woods, on the village road. The one they widened. There’s a parking area that the tourists use.’

‘Right, sir. We’ll see you there.’

As she led the cows down into the milking yard, Lilah heard a car speeding along the road below the woods. It was going unusually fast and she tutted to herself. A few minutes later, another one followed, just as quickly.
Something’s happening
, she thought.

Cappy and Phoebe arrived just as the occupant of the bracken hideaway was stirring. Perhaps they had been less than silent during their approach. In any case, Phoebe gave no time for assessment or gentle awakenings.

‘You bloody girl!’ she cried. ‘Come out of there!’

A rounded backside emerged slowly, as Elvira reversed into the open on all fours. Something pathetically childlike in the clumsy crawling struck Cappy painfully, and renewed her sense of sadness at what was happening. She opened her mouth to caution Phoebe to be gentle with her daughter, but closed it again. What did she know about it? Standing there, watching these two 
bizarre countrywomen, she felt more alien than at any time since arriving in England, ten years ago.

Before Elvira could stand up, Phoebe had seized hold of her and pulled her upwards. ‘Mum!’ squawked the girl. ‘Leave me alone.’ Then she turned to face her mother and Cappy saw a look of pure malice fix itself on her features. ‘Why don’t you leave me
alone
?’ she repeated. ‘Why’d you come chasing after me?’

Phoebe released her hold and looked at Cappy. ‘This lady said you weren’t safe here.’

Elvira laughed harshly, maniacally. The sound rang through the woods, silencing the birds. Cappy wanted to cover her ears; she had never heard such an inhuman sound. The girl was obviously not merely backward; she was seriously deranged.

‘Well?’ Elvira demanded. ‘What’re you going to do now?’ She spoke thickly, as if her tongue were too big for her mouth. Phoebe looked to Cappy for assistance, an anxious, doubtful look coming into her eyes.

‘You ought not to be here,’ she told her daughter. ‘It’s trespassing.’

‘I’m not hurting anyone.’ Elvira was defiant.

‘Come on, girl,’ said Phoebe. ‘Remember what we talked about. Remember yesterday, when he came to see us? There’s no need to live out here, like some animal, when you can have a lovely new 
home. Remember?’ She spoke soothingly, almost hypnotically, but Cappy knew that she was being careful not to give anything away. She seemed unsure as to whether Elvira would understand her. Her face was tense and desperate.

The girl narrowed her eyes, so they almost disappeared in her plump cheeks. ‘Don’t need a new home,’ she replied. ‘Getting married, I am.’ She laughed again. ‘Yeah, I am. Really and truly getting married.’

‘What do you mean?’ Phoebe’s voice was high with shock. ‘Who’s been getting at you? Who’s been out here with you? I heard stories of you being with some man. What’s been going on?’

Before she could reply, Elvira’s attention was drawn by the sound of heavy footsteps crashing through the undergrowth. All three of them turned towards the noise.

‘Here they are!’ came a man’s voice. ‘Over here!’

In no time there were three policemen – one of them alarmingly tall – confronting them, standing with their arms held out from their sides as if ready to head off escaping animals. Cappy took a deep breath to steady her pounding heart, then walked towards them.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Nobody’s been hurt. I’m Mrs Mabberley. My husband owns these woods.’ 

‘And your husband is very worried about you,’ said one of the men. ‘He asked us to come and make a search for you. Is there anybody else here?’ He looked round, eyes darting here and there, but Cappy shook her head.

‘And who are these ladies?’ the man pursued.

Like a hostess, Cappy introduced them. ‘Phoebe Winnicombe and her daughter, Elvira.’

Phoebe threw an accusing look at Cappy before reaching out a hand to Elvira. ‘We were just going home. Weren’t we, love?’

Elvira nodded very slightly, and bent to pick up the canvas bag which was lying beside the mouth of the bracken cave.

‘Has someone been sleeping here?’ pursued the man. ‘Would you mind showing us?’

Elvira shrugged and flapped an arm briefly towards her hideout. She said nothing.

Slowly, the policemen seemed to come to the conclusion that they had been directed to something important. They became mutedly excited, glancing at each other, muttering briefly, as they examined the area. The women stood passively watching, although Cappy was anxious to move away. At last she said, almost pleading, ‘Am I free to go home now?’

‘Well,’ said the man doubtfully, ‘I think, in the circumstances, I’ll have to ask all of you to come with us for questioning.’ 

‘What on earth do you mean?’ Cappy spoke stridently. ‘We haven’t done anything to justify that. You don’t mean to say you’re arresting us, surely? I’ve made no complaint against Elvira.’

‘No, madam, we’re not arresting you, but you must be aware that there is a murder inquiry going on. Three people have been killed within half a mile of this spot, in recent weeks. The existence of this camp, so close by, is something we must take seriously. We need to know exactly who has been here; when; for how long. If you would be kind enough to help us with our enquiries, I’m sure it will in everybody’s best interests.’

Cappy sighed. ‘Well, could we get on with it, then? And could we first tell my husband that I’m all right? Where is he now, anyway?’

‘He went in the other direction, with our sergeant. I can contact them, if you’ll just give me a moment.’ He unhooked a small mobile phone from his belt and tapped its buttons. Before he spoke, he walked some paces away, but Cappy could still hear that the signal was poor, and the voice at the other end very crackly.

She looked at Phoebe and Elvira. They were standing apart, Phoebe looking ill and bewildered, Elvira pale and frightened.
What have I done?
Cappy wondered.
Why on earth did I get myself involved in this
? She moved towards them. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Better get moving.’ 

With a sudden shriek, Elvira backed away from her, before turning tail and running into the deepest part of the woodland. In an astonishingly short time, she was lost from sight. Heart in her mouth, Cappy realised that she was heading right for the cannabis patch. ‘
Catch her!
’ she screamed at the stolid policemen. ‘Go after her!’ She danced up and down in her anxiety, stopping only when Phoebe went up to her and clapped a hand on her shoulder, shaking her roughly.

‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you so keen for her to be caught?’

Cappy ignored her, still frantic, watching two of the men begin to give chase. The third one finished speaking into his phone, and began to tap in new numbers. ‘How far can she go?’ he asked Cappy.

‘A long way,’ she said. ‘It comes out over by Roadworthy Cross, in that direction. Assuming she goes in a straight line, that is. She seems to know her way around. You could get someone to head her off …’ She faltered. It was too difficult to explain to someone who didn’t know the area. There were tiny lanes and tracks, nameless in most cases, criss-crossing the woodlands and surrounding fields. Elvira would be at a huge advantage.

‘We’re not doing any good here,’ decided the man. ‘Would you both come with me, please?’ He led the way purposefully and almost accurately, 
back to the main path through the woods. Cappy saw Jonathan fifty yards away, coming towards them, and ran to meet him, flinging herself in his arms.

‘I’ve been a fool,’ she said breathlessly, before anyone could come close enough to hear. ‘But let me do all the talking, will you? It’ll all be a ghastly mess otherwise.’

The policeman came up behind her. ‘Mr Mabberley, would you please take your wife home? We’d like you both to stay there until we can sort things out here. I’ve called for reinforcements and another vehicle, so we can take you all in for questioning. But my priority must be to examine that hideaway. Can I rely on you, sir?’

‘Of course,’ said Jonathan, easily. ‘Come on, darling. We’ll go and get some breakfast.’

Cappy smiled up at him, acting the innocent, then looked at the policeman. ‘We’ll be waiting for you at the house,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think you’ll find anything important there. That poor girl isn’t right in the head, you know. She wouldn’t do anybody any harm.’ She looked back at Phoebe. ‘She’s ill,’ she added, in a low voice. ‘Don’t be hard on her. She hasn’t done anything, either.’

The man did not smile. ‘We’ll be along for you in a little while,’ he said, and nodded at Jonathan to take her away.

Amos met the Mabberleys in their yard. He could see that something strange was going on, and it came to him with total certainty that it had been Cappy he had seen walking along the road at six-thirty that morning.

‘Where’s Phoebe?’ he said, surprising himself at the question. Cappy’s answer was even more of a surprise.

‘She’s gone with the police,’ she said. ‘They want to question her.’

‘High time,’ he growled. ‘They should lock that woman up.’

Cappy wouldn’t be drawn. Her flurry of concern had burnt itself out, and she no longer cared what happened to the Winnicombes. ‘Well,’ she said vaguely. ‘I don’t know how we can help you.’

Amos gave Jonathan a pleading look. He could see himself through their eyes: old worn-out clothes, and the body inside them not much better. ‘Will ye listen to me,’ he said. ‘I’ve things to tell.’

Jonathan shifted uneasily, holding Cappy close around the shoulders. ‘My wife’s had a shock,’ he said feebly. ‘I ought to get her into the house.’

‘Shock?’ echoed Amos harshly, and put a hand to the wound on his head. ‘Shock, is it?’

‘Honestly, my friend, I don’t think we’re the people you should speak to. It’s the Beardons, or the police, don’t you think? I can see you’re troubled about Phoebe. And Elvira seems to be 
in some trouble …’ He glanced at Cappy for confirmation, but she did not respond. ‘Anyway, it’s all in the hands of the police now.’

Amos turned to leave. ‘This the quick way to Redstone?’ he queried, indicating the track down to a gate and across the fields; the one Lilah had used on the night of the barbecue.

‘That’s right,’ said Jonathan.

The chase through the woods did not last long. Den’s long legs soon gained on Elvira, despite her superior knowledge of the terrain. She was wearing only socks, which did not effectively shield her feet from the many sharp and prickly plants in her path. He caught at her arm as she hesitated on the edge of a dense patch of brambles, and pulled her to a standstill. She screamed and punched at his chest, but he held on. His colleague was soon holding her other arm, and together they started walking her back the way they’d come.

‘You
can’t
, you
mustn’t
,’ she wept, hanging heavy between them like a baulky toddler. ‘I bain’t going with you.’

‘Come on, Elvira,’ said Den. ‘Don’t you remember me? We used to go on the same bus to school.’

She squinted up at him. ‘I never went to your school,’ she said.

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But you went on our bus.’ 

‘Hmmm,’ she grunted. He could see her trying to remember, and in the process forgetting to obstruct their progress. He kept up his amiable chatter.

‘Nice camp you’ve got there. Must have been fun, ’specially in the nice weather.’ She grinned, but said nothing. ‘Got yourself a boyfriend then? Is that right?’ he pressed on.

‘Getting married, I am,’ she agreed.

She was walking with them now, yelping occasionally when something stabbed at her feet. ‘Forgot your DMs,’ remarked the other policeman. ‘Look like new ones, too.’

‘He gave ’un to me. For a present,’ she simpered. ‘Ma said I couldn’t have any, so he bought ’un. Shows he loves me. He do love me,’ she repeated earnestly. ‘Really and truly.’

‘I should hope he does,’ said Den, and found himself meaning it.

They stopped at the camp, giving Elvira time to put her Doc Martens on and gather up her bag. Then they drove her to the police station. She became agitated in the car, turning to look out of the back window, watching the road behind them intently.

‘Is she fit to be interviewed?’ the desk officer asked when they arrived.

‘We’ve got no choice,’ said Den. ‘I think she’ll be okay if we’re gentle.’

‘Gentle!’ repeated the man, but a more careful 
look at Elvira gave him pause. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘Poor little bitch. Should we get a woman to do it?’

Den considered briefly, then shook his head. ‘She seems all right with men,’ he said.

Den was asked to sit with Elvira while a senior detective interviewed her. She seemed at first not to need him, striding into the room in the clumping boots for a minute or two, before plonking herself down on one of the chairs. Den realised that she must have been sent for assessments of various sorts for much of her life, and had grown accustomed to strange rooms full of strange people. She waited quietly for something to happen.

‘Please tell us your full name,’ began the interviewer.

‘Elvira Mary Winnicombe,’ came the prompt reply.

‘And your address?’

The reply to this was equally forthcoming. Encouraged, the man moved swiftly on to the main business. ‘Would you tell us, please, Elvira, if you know anything about the way Mr Guy Beardon died?’

She narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. ‘Never heard nothing,’ she said, and then frowned doubtfully.

‘You do know who I mean? The man who fell into the slurry pit.’ 

Elvira giggled, and folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘He never fell in,’ she said.

The room went still and silent and the interviewer read Elvira the convoluted wording of the newly-revised police caution.

After that it was easy. For Den, it felt too easy. They didn’t even have to trick her into telling the whole story. He wanted to stop her, to say, ‘Hasn’t anyone warned you not to tell us all this?’ She seemed to feel no caution, no hesitation about revealing what had happened. It was disconcerting and more – like a very young child confessing to evil deeds, with no sense at all of having done something wrong. As she went on, Den found it almost unbearable.

At last, the important question came. ‘Who told you to do this, Elvira? Who said you should push Mr Beardon into the muck?’

‘Somebody,’ she said, abruptly switching into a cunning demeanour. ‘Don’t you ask me that.’

‘All right,’ agreed the man. ‘I won’t. Now, what about the other man? Sam Carter. Somebody shot him, didn’t they? Do you know how to shoot a gun, Elvira?’